30 June 2011

The ties that bind.

So...I went to work, spent all day furiously doing something - not entirely sure what - in preparation for whatever might happen regarding this change in the law. Or not change in the law. Or new parliamentary ruling which means the old law stays. Or...God only knows what.

John met me at lunchtime, though, and bought me a very nice panini and a coffee.

Got home (on the bike - not entirely sure Danger has forgiven me yet. His face was VERY disapproving when I got home. Especially when he realised I'd ditched the crutches at work...), John and Mycroft cooked a wonderful dinner.

Sherlock got in a properly black mood with me for not letting him see some crime scene pictures I had (brutal murder. I'd have had to call social services on myself if he'd seen them), so he has spent his time since, we've just discovered, tying/threading/attaching/binding every single thing (almost) in our bedroom together, with dental floss. About 2 miles of it, in my estimation.

Are we going to go from everything tied together to everything in shreds, when he takes the scissors to it all?

Make sure I have at least one suit left for work? Actually, I've got one at the yard...

Nameless - Supplies are hidden in a locked box, up very high. Spontaneity's great, right?

Well, Mycroft recruited John as a sous-chef. Don't know how forgiven that makes me.

And to be honest, everything was so completely chaotic today, I didn't even notice. There might have been a few faces missing, canteen seemed a bit empty, but my team's all coppers. Coppers with no bloody clue how to do the job at the moment.

I can wait for the torture, oddly enough. Sherlock would derive way too much pleasure at seeing me in pain tonight, anyway. He'd probably do some sort of wrestling move, leap on me elbows first from the bedhead or something to finish the job on my ribs.

You know, in all my years as an unholy terror, I never tried that one. Dental floss. Heh. And out of what little sense of decorum I have, I'll refrain from telling Sherlock what I DID do. Though some were, frankly, works of art. Even my mother occasionally had to admire my near criminal deviousness.

Don't feel guilty on either of our accounts. And i know, it's tiring being called names. Still, he didn't tell me he wished I was dead this time, which is a step up. Hope he didn't say anything of the sort to you, either?

Seriously, get some kip when the boys are safely at school. If I was there I woukd entice you back to bed...

I understand it's very frustrating to have someone not realize you aren't speaking to them. That was a favorite punishment of a roommate in college. She got into an argument about it with roommate #2 who complained that she never did that to me. Roommate #1 announced that she hadn't spoken to me in a week. Roommate #2 looked at me accusingly. I shrugged and said I hadn't noticed which sent Roommate #1 into a meltdown. All that effort wasted.

Yeah, and obvioiusly I wouldn't have realised without him telling me, as I never speak to him when I'm at work (well, unless he gets arrested in Harrods for shoplifting...)

He just found me, tugged on my jeans to get my attention, said "You're mean and horrible and I'm not talking to you now." and proceeded to only nod, shake his head or scowl as I offered him various breakfasting choices.

It does really annoy him when you ignore whatever punishment he has deemed apt for your crime,

He just found me, tugged on my jeans to get my attention, said "You're mean and horrible and I'm not talking to you now." and proceeded to only nod, shake his head or scowl as I offered him various breakfasting choices.